Primrose
by onetimetrip
Summary: Most people had the choice to live or to die. But not Yuuki (Brendan). He had neither.
1. The First Flower: Daffodil

**A/N: Brendan's name is Yuuki (his Japanese name), and similarly, May's name is in Japanese as well (Haruka)**

* * *

"I see you're still in the dumps." My psychotherapist said monotonously, like she had expected this. "This is your last session with me, but obviously I don't see any improvement in your situation."

I interlaced my fingers, my palms clammy and freezing. My feet tapped the linoleum floor incessantly, not out of impatience, but simply out of cowardice. I started nibbling my fingers, which were all rough and dirty from my previous grooming sessions, and I could sense the appalment my psychotherapist had on her face.

"I don't know what can I do for you, Mr. Yuuki. I gave you all the pushes I could provide, but it's evident that you're not benefiting in any way whatsoever." She sighed. "You're not even trying."

Her words went into my ears. And out again.

"Show me your diary." She said, her voice drowned out by my own thoughts. I spiritlessly reached out for my old and dirty bag, and took out a flimsy stack of papers that were stapled together in the most uncaring way possible. She took it, albeit rather unwillingly, and carefully flipped the pages.

"You're not trying. Clearly."

A face full of disappointment. I knew I was branded a hopeless man by her long ago. I rolled my focus to the door, dreading to leave. I continued tapping my feet.

"Blank, blank, blank, blank." She muttered under her breath, before she slapped the papers into a neat stack. "What have you been thinking and doing these days?"

I ignored her, and rubbed my hands and wrists to stop the sweating.

"You need to get your act together, Mr. Yuuki. You know your father is paying quite the sum for you to attend these sessions." She said while shaking her head.

I started digging at my nails, flicking the dirt out whenever possible. I cared not for my father; he's only doing this to make sure I don't embarass him. I was the third son, and my brothers Hibiki and Akashi were talented men. My father did not want me to sully my family's name.

"Can you at least say something? Anything at all." She urged.

I stared at her with lifeless, beady eyes, my eyebags prominent and sagging on my skin.

"I want to die."

She stiffened considerably, and I knew that my words had caught her off-guard. She cleared her throat, and spoke, "You can't."

I glanced at my shoes, imagining that I was sitting on the edge of the top of a skyscraper, and maybe if I got out of this chair, I could end my life. But I can't. Because if I commited suicide, it was equivalent to splashing muddy water onto my family's reputation.

"Then can I live?" I rasped.

She looked more perplexed than ever, and tried to find the right words to say. In the end, she sat opposite me solemnly, and turned her gaze to the diary, as if trying to ignore the fact that I had asked the question.

As expected.

My family never wanted me to live. I was just an extra child. I did not need to live.

"I'm leaving." I breathed. The psychotherapist did not stop me. She could not.

I snatched the diary away from my psychotherapist's hands, violently tugged at my bag, the straps trapped beneath the chair. When it came free, I slung it over my shoulder. Slouching, I trudged towards the exit.

"Mr. Yuuki."

"What?" I gruffly replied.

"Y-you dropped this." She stood up, wanting to pass the piece of paper to me, until she saw the four letter word written on it.

I frantically grabbed the paper from her grasp, and accidentally met her eyes, which held surprise and joy, as if she had discovered treasure.

In my haste to leave, I dropped a few more pieces of blank paper, but did not bother to pick them up as I quickly escaped out of the room.

Upon slamming the door shut, I panted heavily from the emotional stress pressed onto me seconds ago, before I handled the piece of paper delicately. It was slightly crumpled, yet I held this single piece of paper dear.

I was not given the choice to live. Nor to die.

This paper was the only item that gave me a choice.

She was the only one who gave me a choice.

Haruka.

I gently folded the paper, stuffed it into my pocket, and left.

Upon reaching my living quarters, I removed my slippers and haphazardly left them near the entrance. The apartment was fairly large, but within, there was little furniture, with only a small bed, a chair and a kitchen that remained unused. This place was remotely far from being a home.

After dumping my bag into my bedroom, I headed to the toilet in order to wash up. I pressed my hands against the edge of the sink, breathing heavily, before I looked up and stared at my reflection.

Oh hell, I looked ridiculous.

My gaunt face was pale and unshaven, hallow eyes listless and narrowed, with severe eyebags at the bottom. I traced my cheekbones, which were so inward that I appeared as if I was malnourished. My lips were of a faint colour, cracked and dry.

I opened the tap, let the water run down the faucet for a few seconds, before I bent down and closed my eyes, the cooling liquid running down my hair, then to my face.

It felt as if my head was thrust into a pool of water as I stayed in that position for at least six minutes. Yet I was far from being refreshed.

I could never be refreshed in this life of mine.

I blindly reached out for the tap, and pushed it down quickly.

With my face dripping wet, I dully applied some shaving foam, gripped onto my razor tightly, before I pulled it down in one slow motion, cleanly shaving off the weeds on my chin.

Upon wiping my face dry, I re-checked my appearance. It made little difference, but this was enough.

She won't be able to see me anyway.

I plodded out of the toilet, and headed to change into a fresh set of clothes. It took me no longer than five minutes to look slightly better.

Even though she can no longer see how I look like.

Ruffling my hair, I dragged myself into my studio.

My art studio.

The interior wasn't much, and was no bigger than the size of a large closet. And within was crammed with drawings and paintings covered by rough white canvas cloth, thick and thin brushes, charcoal and tubes of paint lying around the dirty, untreated wood floor. The smell of paint flourished, and the curtains were splattered with paint, and a single easel stood silently in the middle of my studio.

Art.

This was what I was good at.

And my talent was frowned upon by my family.

But not by her.

She was the only one who accepted me for who I am.

I solemnly walked towards one of the paintings and unveiled it. A sea of flowers flooded the whole painting. And in the middle of it all, was the subject of my painting.

A single girl, with short, bountiful brown hair, was set in the middle of the colourful landscape. Her features were not yet done, and now all I need to do was to paint them in.

I pulled a nearby stool over, sat on it, and set to work. Every brushstroke was slow yet steady, careful yet certain. I drew in her eyes. Her eyes.

Every bit of my memory of her burned into this painting. And every bit of her do I missed.

She was the only light in my life. The only light that came to me as bright as a sunflower.

Oh, how she loved flowers.

We met in a small park, not any sudden or cliche meeting whatsoever, but meeting her was the best day of my life.

I had been sitting down under an oak tree, silently sketching the lush and green scenery.

Until she came.

"Hello!" A bright voice chirped.

I jerked upright in surprise, and turned to my left. A person stared at me with sapphire blue eyes, so full of curiosity and strangely, they appeared glazed and out of focus. This person, wore a white beanie, and was evidently bald. I could not discern the person's gender for a second, until I noticed her feminine shaped body. Suddenly, she inched closer and closer, and I leaned backwards uncomfortably as I studied her appearance. Her face had an odd hue, pinkish and porcelein white at the same time. She reminded me of a dainty and fragile delphinium.

She came even closer, her breath warm and moist.

"You're... too close." I gasped.

She hurriedly retracted and with a flustered expression, she said, "I'm sorry! Just needed to get a good look of you. I can't see well."

I clamped my sketchbook shut, and curled up against the tree bark as she smiled good-naturedly at me. I was not accustomed to such innocence.

"Were you drawing?" She asked as she leaned forward, clearly disregarding the distance between the two of us. She was awfully overfamiliar with some stranger sitting under a tree. I did not look particularly attractive with my grey fraying sweatshirt, thick-framed glasses that served to help me to maintain a low profile, and my bed hair that had been left untamed since morning. I cleared my throat a bit, and stayed silent, hoping that she could just leave me alone.

She moved away, seemingly getting my message.

And scooted right next to me.

I widened my eyes in incredulity as I looked at her, her unfocused blue eyes gazing at me expectantly.

"You were drawing, weren't you?"

"Y-y-yes." I finally stuttered, feeling extremely awkward.

"Can you draw me a daffodil?" She asked.

"There's tons of them right over there." I pointed towards the flower patches, hoping that this could distract her.

"I'm allergic to pollen. And plus, I can't see well." She said.

Seeing that she was not going to give up any time soon, I complied, and swiftly drew a rather slip-shot sketch of the white flower. I shoved the paper into her face, sincerely wishing that she could leave.

"How pretty! You draw well."

I blushed. Not many praised my skills. They usually looked down on it, saying that it did not have any future and whatnot.

"I can draw better than this." I said, wanting to compensate for my initial perceptions of her. "I can draw all the flowers in the world."

"All?" She exclaimed with a childish innocence.

"Y-yeah." I hesitantly replied.

"Then draw me an Alstroemeria." She said.

"A-a what?" I spluttered. I've never heard of the name of such a flower.

"Alstroemeria. A-L-S-T-R-O-E-M-E-R-I-A. It's like a miniature lily, or that's what my mother said."

"How... does it look like?" I asked slowly.

"I don't know. I've never seen any flower in my whole life."

"None?" I shouted in shock. She nodded in reply.

"But I know all their meanings. All of them! So if you draw me all the flowers in the world, I can tell you all of their meanings!" She bubbled excitedly.

I curled up more than ever, as she pushed her face before me. Our noses were almost touching.

"Like the daffodil! It means a new beginning." She explained, and then pushing herself up with much difficulty, she beamed at me, her eyes still looking unfocused, yet sparkling with such light that it was almost blinding to look at her.

"My name's Haruka, what's yours?"

"Y-Yuuki."

She thrust her hand out. I clenched my right fist, before skeptically accepting her handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Yuuki!"


	2. The Second Flower: Alstroemeria

"Draw me an Alstroemeria."

Her voice reverberated in my mind. Soft and loud. Soft and loud. I could vividly remember how she had asked me to draw her all the flowers in the world. I must admit that I had been too hasty in making such a claim.

I could certainly not draw all the flowers in the world. And neither did I promise her anything. Yet her chirpy voice continued to intrude into my mind.

I sunk into my lumpy bed, feeling drained from thinking about her.

"I'll be here next Saturday, at this spot! So please show me an Alstroemeria."

There it is again.

"Please, get out of my head." I moaned. A sense of guilt and uncertainty was eating at me. If I did not go to the park that day, will she be disappointed? Will she be waiting until I come?

I rolled left and right, thinking and thinking. I certainly had nothing to do today, nothing to do everyday except to draw and paint and draw and paint. I was out of work, out of education and out of things to do. Thinking back, I was told to pursue a medical degree, no, more like commanded, by my father, who repeatedly yelled at me to be someone useful to the family. I never liked medicine, despite my aptitude in it.

He would forcibly throw away my art supplies, no matter how costly they were, and push a thick book about neurology into my chest. But I denied him. I denied his ideals, his commands, his entire self. I hated my father. No, hate was not a strong enough word.

I despised him.

I buried my face into my pillow as I tried to stop remembering such sour memories. Strangely, my train of thoughts travelled back to that girl called Haruka.

Oh yeah, an Alstroemeria.

I stoned there for minutes, eyes unblinking. Finally, after minutes of internal turmoil, I sighed in resignation.

I'll draw her an Alstroemeria.

It won't hurt to do it anyway.

* * *

Standing in front of the shop, I started surveying the exterior. Baskets of flowers lined neatly next to the entrance, their different aromas mixing, churning into a great big rainbow of freshness and sweetness. It had been ages since I had visit the florist. The shop was a stone's throwaway - three blocks down the main road - and here I was.

I stepped forward, and pushed the glass door open. A sonorous clink of bells announced my arrival, and a plump, jovial-looking lady, supposedly the owner, turned to look. She wore a pink spotted headcloth, bunches of curly black hair resting on her shoulders, and a simple white dress coupled with a large red apron.

"Ara! A customer! How may I help you?" She said as she lumbered over. A considerably short woman, she had to tilt her head up to speak to me. I opened my mouth, but not a word came out. I never had been good at speaking with others, and this time, my social skills aren't working in my favour.

The lady smiled kindly, as she patiently awaited for me to say a word or two.

"Alstroemeria." I finally answered.

"How many stalks would you like to purchase?" She inquired.

I awkwardly raised my index finger, in which she acknowledged my order with a nod, and skipped off to complete my request. She came back in a jiffy.

"Is this colour fine with you?"

She held a thin stalk, where three purple flowers bloomed. Each flower had three big sepals, three small petals. The small petals were streaked with red, looking so lustrous and smooth.

"Yes." I responded.

"For a friend?" She casually asked while packing the flower with a plastic wrapping at the counter.

"No." I bluntly replied. The florist quirked her brow in surprise, which confused me greatly. Taking the wrapped flower from her, I paid accordingly and turned around to exit.

"Alstroemeria means friendship, good sir!" The lady joyfully called out. "Do come by again!"

I paused for a short while, before I reached out for the door handle. The bell clinked once more, signalling my departure.

* * *

I set the delicate flowers into a make shift vase. In truth, it was a mug. I had deliberately shortened the stalk to fit it in. Placing the red mug on the stool, I stared at the three blossoms.

They were oddly... mesmerising.

Even the name itself sounded magical, soothing even.

Alstroemeria.

I crouched down and gently caress the petals, which felt soft to the touch. I cautiously leaned forward and took a whiff, but there was no fragrance.

Standing up, I lifted the mug by the handle, and continued to examined the light purple Alstroemeria. I studied its shape, its colour, its patterns with newfound curiousity. An urge to pick up my brush rose, and I quickly put down the mug, and rushed to take my watercolor brushes.

Exactly thirty minutes later, I had drawn- no, painted - three perfect Alstroemerias. I smacked my lips in satisfaction, and stole a glance at the small flowers sitting inside the mug. They swayed slightly, as if responding to me.

"Haruka." I accidentally murmured. I clapped my mouth shut, surprised that I had spoke her name. Why did I speak of her name?

I looked at the Alstroemerias once more. Pursing my lips, I packed my brushes, and shoved the completed painting into my folder. After placing it into my bag, I left my studio.

* * *

Saturday came. I walked up to the oak tree, uncertain and nervous, as I hugged my bag tightly. My feet crushed the crisp grass underneath, and a gentle breeze caressed my cheeks. I sat down cross-legged on the exact same spot I sat a week ago. I idly stared at my surroundings, which was fairly surreal and void of people, except for an elderly couple who were hobbling down the cobbled path together. The patches of white daffodils danced with the wind, and I looked ahead, waiting for her arrival.

Will she come?

As this single thought circulated in my mind, I fell into a state of sleep.

"Hello! You came!"

I jolted awake, and found the girl looking at me, her face almost pressing onto mine. She did not look any different as last week. Now that I noticed, the park looked more lively, with many children bouncing about. I could not comprehend how did it get so crowded all of a sudden.

"You're too close again." I sighed.

"Whoops. I'm sorry!" She shouted. She ought to have a sense of distance.

Haruka grinned, her blue eyes sparkling again. That sparkle was really painful to look at. I huffed, and swiftly took out the painting.

"Oooooohh!" She sang happily, as she took the paper over. The sparkle in her eyes only grew brighter. "So these are Alstroemerias! They're so pretty!"

I gave a tired nod of the head.

"Heehee, as thanks, I'll tell you about the meaning of Alstroemerias!" She said.

"It's okay, I know the meaning." I dully replied. She pouted, her cheeks puffing up, clearly displeased that her bubble was burst. For a moment there, I thought she looked cute.

She suddenly leaned in close, her blurred eyes shining its light at me. I swallowed a ton of saliva, as she grinned at me.

"It means friendship."

"I know."

"Since you know, shouldn't you say something else?"

"S-Say what?" I gasped, as her hands pressed onto my chest. She smelled distinctively of disinfectant. Her fingers tickled my sides, cause me to laugh uncontrollably. I tried to push her away, but she resisted and continued to tickle me.

"What... do I... need to... say?" I shouted in between laughs. The tickling stopped for a moment, and I found Haruka already sitting on top of me. I frantically looked around, hoping that no one saw that inappropriate position we were in. Does this girl understand that we're in public?

Evidently, nope. Her eyes was just filled with innocence. She's getting familiar with me. Too familiar, in fact.

The distance between us was now no less than an inch. I breathed, the smell of disinfectant enveloping my nose.

Haruka flicked my forehead, and said teasingly, "You idiot. You're supposed to ask me to be your friend."

"F-F-F-Friend?" I spluttered. The word was foreign to me. Very, very foreign.

When was the last time I had friends? Or did I had any in the beginning?

Since my childhood, I had been kept under the shadow of my brothers and my father. All the time I was forced to keep up with my older brothers, and certainly time never permitted me to make friends with anyone.

I looked into her sapphire blue eyes. They remained out of focus, yet brimming with light.

"I can't have... friends." I muttered under my breath.

"Why not?" She asked in surprise.

"Because I... never had any." I murmured, a twang of pain in my chest. I bit my lower lip as I gazed at her, wondering how she would react.

"Idiot Yuuki." She chuckled. "You're so silly."

I blinked my eyes, perplexed at her reaction. Her hand pressed harder onto my chest, as if trying to push away my emotional pain. I winced, and finally did she tore away from me. Given room to breathe, I gasped for air. She was now standing before me, her skin looking as pale as ever, causing me to wonder if she was a ghost. Her white beanie looked extra striking against the blue sky.

"If you never had any friends, I'll be your first!" She declared. "It's simple!"

Her face was full of confidence.

Simple.

Ah. I thought. It's simple.

I gulped nervously as I clunched my bag, my nails digging into the polyester. My cheeks felt abnormally hot. Was I having a fever?

I decided against that question as I tentatively put my hand forward.

It is simple, after all.

"Haruka."

This was the second time I spoke her name this week.

"Can you be my friend?"

Haruka smiled. She grasped my hand tightly with both of hers. Her fingers felt so soft, so delicate, and so small.

This was how a girl's hands felt like.

This was how Haruka's hands felt like.

"Of course!" She said cheerily.

I gave a soft smile in return. My cheeks still tingled from the blushing, but I cared nothing about it.

"Then as a friend, can you draw me all the flowers in the world?" She asked.

I stared at her. Then I switched my focus to the painting of Alstroemerias left lying next to her feet.

"Yes." I whispered.

"Sorry?" She asked.

"Yes!" I shouted.

Haruka stopped short, seemingly caught off guard from my raised volume. She giggled, and her blue eyes looked into mine.

"Then, draw me a Crocus next."


End file.
